


Memory Eve

by Inky_Scribbles



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: AU, But there's probably still mistakes lol, Coming Out, Coming out goes wrong, Dick Grayson dies, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid M'gann M'orzz, Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jason Todd lives, Mild Language, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Jason Todd, Pancakes, Scents??, Stashes of food, This one is edited!! Yay, it's not shown though, just FYI, neither is the character death, stashes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 22:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15872697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Scribbles/pseuds/Inky_Scribbles
Summary: Jason Todd had never met Dick Grayson, but if they had, they liked to think that he would give them advice on how to deal with this life.How had he done it? Jason would ask.A strangely blurred out face, even though Jason knew exactly what Dick Grayson looked like, would smile fondly down at them, hand on their shoulder— which Jason would promptly shrug off, and Dick's smile would become a grin. And then Jason would be told how to juggle school and vigilante work. How to make caped friends, but keep your civilian ones. How to make those friends in the first place. All of the tips and tricks on how to deal with that utter asshole Batman.





	Memory Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Just fyi, this was written to Talk To Me by Cavetown.
> 
> Oh, and the only reason it _was_ written was because I just realised I'm not cis and wanted to write about genders? Honestly it's such a complicated subject that idk what I'm really doing, but it was a bit of fun to dip my toe in.
> 
> Jason is a sparrow/stag nonbinary, you cowards.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

Landing in the Mountain took about as long as it did to blink, leaving them with the familiar feeling of your foot falling asleep, except with your entire body. Jason shook themself out of it, walking it off as they stalked straight to the one room they knew nobody would think to look for them.

Mount Justice was abandoned at this time of day. The rest of the team was at school, but Gotham Academy had been bombed by the Joker a few days back and was still being rebuilt. Kaldur'ahm might still be around, but he had been leaving for the sea to visit his friends quite often, recently, and Jason dearly hoped that was the case today. Who knew where Red Tornado was most of the day, honestly, but he definitely wasn't here now.

The lights fixed into the craggy ceiling flickered on at their steps, but they barely paid attention enough to notice. All they could hear was the raging blood in their ears, the _ba-dump_ drum of their heartbeat, and the dull tap of their feet against the metal flooring, worn and well used. (Although, in recent years, they had noticed that the founding members were slowly trickling out into the new rooms in the East wing. Kid Flash had been the first to go).

It was these rooms that they winded through, occupied now only by the newest members; mostly those who didn't know any better. Technically speaking, Jason was one of those members. Technically speaking, Jason was a boy.

They slowed one door away from their destination, and only then to give the customary glare to Wally's old room. His room was stripped empty, most of the belongings simply moved to either his new room at the Mountain or his new apartment, but there were a particular set of items that Jason knew for a fact were given to Beast Boy under the guise of presents. Couldn't bear to look at them, couldn't bear to get rid of them. Jason had seen the like before, in Mr. McDuncan, who hated to look on the old pictures of his friends from the trenches. He had sold them to someone looking for old photographs for a scrapbook.

After that, (because apparently Wally had needed to share as much space as possible with his best friend) it was barely a step to the next room, where they shut the door without looking back and dove into the clean covers of the bed.

Even though this room, too, had been abandoned, the objects had stayed, and remained mysteriously clean each time Jason entered. (The knickknacks seemed to watch them for a moment, before dragging their gazes back to the door). They would say magic kept the place tidy, and leave it at that, but they had spotted Red Tornado loitering in the area for no particular reason on more than one occasion. A bit like Alfred did.

It was only when the covers (which smelled the same as they did every time Jason came; musty, without the sense of being used, and rubbery, with just a slight hint of pine and wood chips) were completely over their head that Jason let the tears fall. They breathed in deeply, sniffing the pinewood and the rubber, somehow exactly how they imagined their predecessor would smell, even after having been washed as many times as they had.

Their eyes felt hot and bloated, their throat folded around a stone that spewed out endlessly in sobs as the tears streamed and streamed and never stopped. 

Jason hated it. They hated that they cried. They hated that they cried here, of all places. They hated that the only place they ever felt comfortable crying was in this room, where Dick Grayson's scent still lingered and his belongings stood guard, ever-staring at the door. They hated that the words _"it's not fair,"_ crossed through their mind like a chain made up of identical links. They hated it.

When the worst was over, however long it had been later, their bloated red eyes simply looked, exhausted. They looked at the folds of the blue and white covers, they looked at the stitching in one part of the duvet, where what looked like a birdarang had scored the material. They looked at their hands; pale and sweaty, cracked from Gotham's cold.

Jason had never met their predecessor— well, not properly. Jason had never learned from an older brother, a friend, or even just a letter written to a kid who had no idea what they were doing. Only from the father-figure, the mentor, the Batman. The man who lead gods in the Justice League. If they had met him, though, Jason liked to think that he would give them advice on how to deal with this life.

How had he done it? Jason would ask.

A strangely blurred out face, even though Jason knew exactly what Dick Grayson looked like, would smile fondly down at them, hand on their shoulder— which Jason would promptly shrug off, and Dick's smile would become a grin. And then Jason would be told how to juggle school and vigilante work. How to make caped friends, but keep your civilian ones. How to make those friends in the first place. All of the tips and tricks on how to deal with that utter _asshole_ Batman.

Jason liked to think that Dick would see them eye to eye and use "they". Unlike that _asshole Bruce._

They took a deep breath, the scent forming around the stone in their throat and eroding away at it. With each breath they took, the stone got smaller and smaller, until eventually it was almost completely gone. They weren't sure if it would ever be completely gone, with what had happened, but maybe with enough hours in this room it would happen. Wasn't like anyone would catch them here, anyway.

They lay in the sheets for a long while after that, right up until the lingering urge for food nipped them in the belly. They couldn't help but wonder at how complacent they'd become; before, while they were still on the streets, they could survive for at least a day without feeling the nag for food (or maybe they became so used to it that the nag was just background noise).

Instead of going straight to the kitchen to steal Wally's snacks (he deserved it), they went to the room adjacent, where the toilet was. They washed their face and hands and then under their arms. The soap on the side hadn't been changed since the last Robin had been here, but there were two unopened squirty ones in the cabinet below that would work.

They opened the Pine and lemon zest one, and squeezed a small puddle into their hand. After taking a deep breath of it, they decided to just full on shower under the outdated shower head, which no one had bothered to update. Or maybe no one wanted to face this room. The water pressure was fine, though.

They put on the same clothes as before, but decided against the T-shirt, as it was about as sweaty as a marathon runner, and they were not keen on smelling one third Jason, one third Pine and lemon zest, and one third sweat.

Even though they knew that they weren't supposed to, that these were important to a lot of people and they shouldn't tamper with them... It wasn't like a dead guy needed clothes. They couldn't resist the urge. So they took the forest green hoodie, snuffed out their face with the hood, and lay back down on the bed for a moment. They were still hungry, but they didn't want to leave the room. Maybe the other Robin had the sense to hide some snacks around here? Especially with a speedster for a best friend.

They lingered a moment on the very-much unmade bed, tangling their fingers in the duvet's sheet and closing their eyes to the dull emergency lights by the door. Maybe they should have turned on the lights, but they didn't want to see anything bright right now. It would feel obtrusive, in a way.

Eventually, they mustered up the energy to leave the sheets and scavenge the room. It took a few looks (turns out their predecessor was very good at hoarding), but in the end they found some chips, a box of cereal and a chocolate bar in separate places all around the room. The chips had a few months left in them yet, and chocolate and cereal lasted forever, so it was all safe to eat.

They curled up around the trash can, (which hadn't been emptied in what was probably years) not wanting to get crumbs anywhere, but not wanting to leave the room, either. They munched there for a while, not getting up or looking up. Once, they almost fell asleep.

Taking that as a sign, they stuffed the empty wrappers into the trash and hid the unopened packets away into the nooks they'd found them in. They washed their face and hands again, not wanting to get grease on the sheets (a force of habit— thanks, Alfred), before finally flopping down like a bloated seal on the bed. They were out within minutes.

When they awoke, it was blearily, and to a shaft of light hitting their eyes. They could just make out a figure against the brightness before they winced their eyes shut again. The light eventually left, replaced by a warmth and a gentle pressure that wrapped all around them. They sighed into it, falling back asleep as easy as breathing.

The second time they awoke, it was nighttime (they could tell because the emergency lights went green towards the evening). It had been a sufficiently long enough time since Bruce had seen them that he would have started looking for them, if it hadn't been for his convenient trip to Asia for Wayne Enterprises. Alfred knew better than to call, though. Jason would come back to the manor soon, but they were comfortable right now.

Actually, they were very comfortable. And warm. When they caught sight of the arm wrapped around their middle, they became very aware of the large body curled around him like a self-heated shell. It was comfortably warm enough that they almost didn't bother moving, to eventually fall asleep again and deal with it in the morning.

But they kind of wanted to know who else was in this room. Who else would come to visit Dick Grayson's room? It wasn't as though they were an enemy (enemies couldn't exactly get in here, and besides, they would probably be feeling a little worse than achy if it was).

With no small amount of difficulty, they turned around to face whoever it was in there with them. It was hard to catch in the lighting, but there, ocean-deep asleep in front of them, was Wally West.

Jason could have guessed at least four people, and none of them would have been Wally. First of all, since when was Wally this touchy-feely? He was bouncy, but touching people usually made him stiffen up, catch himself like he just realised he'd done something wrong (or done something to the wrong person, maybe).

Second of all, since when did Wally come into Dick's room? Wasn't the reason he'd left because he was so close to it? Jason knew that they'd avoided all the cameras on the way here; it was habit at this point, so he couldn't have followed them here. And why would he want to do that in the first place?

Jason wasn't so sure they wanted to hang around here with Wally in the room, even if he was comfortable. Facing the manor would be easier than facing Wally in the morning. What had possessed him to crash here, anyway?

They shifted again, wriggling away from Wally's grip and tugging his arms away. Just as they were about to crawl free, Wally's arms wrapped back around them, firmer than ever. Had he woken up?

"No..." came the muffled reply, out loud. It sounded like sleep talk, but you could never be sure with superheroes. Especially the superheroes who worked at Mount Justice. "Dick, don't leave me again..." okay, yeah, that was sleep talk.

Everyone thought it. Jason acted like him. They could tell, sometimes. The founding members got this look, like their mouths were about to open and spill out things about Dick Grayson they'd never heard of before— no one spoke of him, especially not Batman. But then they clammed up, like the words were sharp and clogged in their throats before they could even part their lips. But no one ever said it. Not once.

Suddenly, Jason needed to get out more than ever. Without taking the care to not wake Wally, Jason thrust their arms away and almost leapt from the bed. 

Almost, because this time the arms came back with a vengeance, tightly clamped around their middle, and Jason was pulled back into a lap. Either Wally was a very conscious sleep-walker, or he was wide awake and needed a teddy bear. Jason did not want to be the teddy bear.

"I'm sorry, Jason."

The words were a lot clearer, this time. Maybe it was because they were a little more awake, or maybe it was because everything else felt so still, but Jason could hear it so clearly. Like they could pluck the words from the shadowed air, if they wanted to.

"You're just so much like him, sometimes."

They knew. Jason knew that. They could see it on the team's faces, sometimes. Like the words wanted to come spilling out, but they were sharp, and clogged their throats before they could even part their lips. Jason knew.

"But he was my best friend."

To Jason's surprise, the words were more like sobs, towards the end. Maybe it was the late-night grogginess, but Wally was gasping into Jason's back, wetting the borrowed hoodie with tears and memories.

It was their job as Robin to reassure and help people after a traumatic experience, and usually they did a good job at it, or at least, they thought they did. But this time... They weren't really sure what to do. They'd only ever met the previous Robin once, and if he were alive, he probably wouldn't remember it.

So instead, they said: "What are you even doing here? I thought you had an apartment."

Wally stopped. Well, stopped was a bit of a strong word, but he stopped. His hands clenched to fists where they were curled around Jason's middle, his head lifted from where it was pressed into their back, breaths falling into a more steady beat. "Don't you know?"

Jason tried to think of something that was happening today, other than Bruce leaving for W.E., but came up short. Alfred had been acting a little weird recently, sure, but they had just assumed it was because Bruce was leaving the country. He always got a bit like that. They shook their head.

Wally shook his head, letting a long breath stream out his mouth and folding his hands together. "It's December 1st. His birthday."

Wally didn't have to elaborate on who "he" was. Dick Grayson, the previous and first Robin's birthday... Was today. And no one told them. They wouldn't put it past anyone here; that was just the way they were, but it didn't make them any less frustrated.

It explained a lot of things, too. Alfred's averseness. Bruce's sudden business trip (probably trying to get away from the memories). No missions today. They should have suspected something was going on, but they had just written it off as other things.

And because no one had told them about what was going on, they had decided that this was the best day to come out (or maybe it was yesterday now?). Right before a business trip, where they could both have some time alone to think stuff over (they hadn't really expected Bruce's cold dismissal, though. They could never have expected that). They felt the stone from before begin to grow again, starting in the middle of their throat, in empty space, and steadily expanding to the walls until they felt like gagging. It still hurt to think that Bruce wouldn't accept them. 

They didn't want to cry, not again, and definitely not while Wally was here. But maybe, in their predecessor's room, while everything still smelled of pine and rubber and wood chips, they could pretend that instead of Wally (who abandoned his best friend's room, who hated to touch anyone other than Red Arrow, who couldn't look at anything to do with Dick Grayson without his face falling into grief), it was Dick. Dick, who would grin, and hold them, and rub their back, and tell them that everything would be okay. That Bruce would come around. That was what he wanted, but.

But, It wasn't Dick. And even if it was, they knew that it wasn't fair to hold him to what he had been that one time they met, after a city-wide Joker attack, and Dick sat down next to them, smiling reassuringly and holding their hand as the two of them walked to the shelter afterwards. Their mother had still been alive, then.

So that night, instead of confessing to a blurry figure of Dick Grayson, Jason confessed to Wally West. Their worries, their wants. Their wishes. Their dreams.

And just as Jason had tried before, Wally held them, reassured them, told them it would be alright. Just like Dick had done, that terrifying night in Gotham.

And when they couldn't talk about that anymore, Wally began to talk. And boy, could he.

He spoke of Dick Grayson, the boy on the trapeze, who flew through the air and never came to ground. He spoke of Dick Grayson, the first sidekick, partner to Batman, the one every kid looked up to— the one Jason, too, knew. He spoke of the legend.

But he also spoke of Dick Grayson, the mischievous Robin who would disappear at inopportune times during a mission. Dick Grayson, who'd make terrible puns and rip apart the English language. Dick Grayson, who loved cereal and rocked at Mario Kart, but couldn't for the life of him play Fighter games. Dick Grayson, who loved the taste of mushrooms but not the texture. Who'd pick off the pickles in his burger and feed them to Wally.

And that was how sleep came to them that night.

The third time Jason awoke, it was to the smell of pancakes. It didn't surprise them much; the kitchen wasn't that far away (Wally's old room being the closest, surprise, surprise), and M'gann was known for her early morning snacks. Having skipped dinner last night probably didn't help the gnawing hunger in their belly, though. Wally had probably already smelled them, too.

They tottered groggily to the kitchen, finding Wally (as expected) already eagerly sat at the island. Kaldur and Connor were similarly seated, in light conversation, respectfully at the opposite end to Wally.

M'gann was at the stove, spatula raised and at the ready. Dangling off his wrist was an orange and light blue knitted bracelet that Connor had made for him. Orange and blue meant that he was a boy today.

He turned when Jason entered, a smile rising to his face. But then it dropped, his eyes catching what Jason was wearing over their chest. And it was at that moment that Jason remembered that they weren't actually supposed to be in Dick's room. Oh heck, nobody here probably wanted to be reminded of—

"It looks good on you," M'gann smiled, his eyes watering just a little at the corners. "You should keep it."

Jason smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> You can bet ur ass Alfred talked some sense into Bruce. This wasn't meant to be bashing or anything, btw. I just feel like Bruce would take a while to get what was going on. I mean, with his emotionally stunted self and all. Not to mention it was Dick's bday.
> 
> Welp, sorry if it got a bit wordy there, or if the pronouns were a bit hard to understand? I didn't want to resort to "the tall boy" or whatever. That always makes it feel kinda clunky to me.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
